My hair is something that resembles a gorilla, a caveman, or a clown.

She is told she is ugly, to always "brush your hair!",

despite it already being groomed.

My hair is something like a maze.

She is full of volume, but convinced that in order to be as pretty as everyone else,

she must be straight.

My hair is something like a cage.

She is trapped in a box, in fear that displaying herself  naturally would cause

others to spew their hateful words.

My hair is now courage.

She is now taught self-love, instead of  living in fear of what others think

by the love of her friends.

My hair is now comfort. 

She is free, in her genuine self, and lively.

My hair is now solace.

She is confident and loved among many others.

She is loved by herself.